


Deliverance

by JadeSabre83



Series: Rhiona's Story [1]
Category: Inbound Flight, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Imperial indoctrination, Inbound Flight shenanigans, OC backstory, Plotting with Queenie needs its own tag, References to Non-Consensual Medical Procedures, Some Fluff, because I am 100 percent that writer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeSabre83/pseuds/JadeSabre83
Summary: The two most important things to Rhiona Lascelles? The Empire, and family.Both take on new meanings after the Battle of Rhigar.
Series: Rhiona's Story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158932
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Then - Bakura

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Inbound Flight: Rising Order](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081398) by [QueenieWithABeenie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenieWithABeenie/pseuds/QueenieWithABeenie). 



> Once upon a time Queenie asked for original characters for the [Inbound Flight](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056806) series, and thus Rhiona Lascelles, loyal Imperial, was born.
> 
> And then we went and fell in love with this smol thing, and I needed to give Rhiona's story some life.

_Trust me when I tell you 'bout my own convictions,_   
_Made my mind up long ago._

_— Deliverance,_ CHVRCHES

~~~

Rhiona’s daddy was a hero.

She grows up hearing the stories, about how he fought in the Clone Wars, how he lost an arm in the Battle of Umbara trying to save a company of clone troopers. How, 12 years later, he died a hero trying to defend Contruum for the Empire. There’s a statue for him in Salis D’aar, right in the central square of the Bakuran capital city, and once a year they make the trip to Coruscant to visit the massive memorial located on the Imperial capital. Her momma even saves up enough credits so they can time that trip to occur during Ascension Week; Empire Day quickly becomes her favorite day of the entire year.

More than Life Day, more than Solstice, even more than her own birthday.

To Rhiona, the Empire is _everything_. It is perfect, the shining example of law and order. It is just, and right, and her entire world. At age 6 she vows that some day she’ll defend the Empire from those who dare to stand against it, just like her daddy had.

When her oldest brother Corbin leaves for the Imperial Academy on Raithal she tries to go with him, and when she’s told that she can’t, she cries. It’s tough news for a 10 year old to take. Not only is she (in her mind) losing her oldest brother, she’s just been told (also in her mind) that she’ll never get to join the Empire.

And if there’s anything Rhiona wants to be when she grows up, it’s a hero just like her daddy.

Her momma tells her that they’ll talk about it when she’s older, but Rhiona knows that’s a lie. Because two years after Corbin leaves, her second oldest brother Jax leaves too. She doesn’t cry this time (12 is a little too old to cry, after all), but she does bring it up and all her momma does is remind her that she has another pageant next week.

Rhiona _hates_ pageants.

Sure, she’s pretty enough with her dark brown curly hair and her big brown eyes and a smattering of freckles. She’s smart (smarter than some of the other girls) too, well spoken, and carries herself well. But she hates putting on the dresses with all the frills and hoops and the shoes that pinch her feet and getting her face painted like a doll. She hates how mean the other girls can be (and how confusing it was when she got that fluttery feeling in her stomach when she had to hold Malita Devair’s hand during one of the musical numbers) and how she has to pretend to be nice to them.

But momma keeps saying it’s _for the best_. That it’ll teach her to be a _proper lady._ Keeps repeating how proper ladies don’t get in tussles with their older brothers, how they shouldn’t keep getting in tussles at school.

And they definitely, most certainly, without a doubt, should not get in tussles _at_ a pageant.

After that, Rhiona no longer has to suffer through another (dumb, stupid, idiotic) farce of a pageant. But a month after that, Mikal announces that he’s leaving, too. Not only that, but he’s been accepted into flight school at the academy on Corulag.

So, right after they turn 15, Rhiona makes a pact with her twin, Ravi, that when they’re old enough they’ll go to Corulag to become TIE pilots just like Mikal.

She throws herself into her studies after that; nothing below perfect is acceptable. She (mostly) avoids tussles at school, and when she’s at the top of her class her second year in senior school (with Ravi a close second, a fact she’ll lord over him for the rest of their lives), the recruiters start calling. Raithal. Royal Imperial. Corulag. It’s early still, as they’re only 16, but there’s a dialogue happening. It’s the most exciting moment of her life, more exciting than watching the fireworks on Empire Day, even more exciting than making out with Malita Devair _and_ Luka Fiersten. At the same time.

And then the unthinkable happens, and the Emperor is killed at the Battle of Endor.

The Emperor.

_Killed._

She remembers seeing him, once, when she was 7.

Granted, it was from a distance and there were thousands of other people there during the parade, but what matters is that she was there, occupying the same space as the Emperor himself. And now he’s gone. Murdered by those filthy (awful, horrible) Rebels.

When her brothers return home to Bakura, defeated but alive, she’s (obviously) relieved. But layered among that relief is guilt; a guilt at her first thought being about herself and her future and what this all means for her spot at Corulag and not about the wellbeing of her brothers or the countless others who didn’t make it home.

That night she’s careful with her prayers to the gods and goddesses, thanking them for the safe return of her brothers, asking them to relieve the burden of those who weren’t so lucky.

(She waits at _least_ a week to start praying for news of Corulag.)

News does eventually come, and it’s not good. A year after Endor the Empire suffers its last defeat at the Battle of Jakku and staggers, tail between its legs, to an agreed upon (and small) territory.

But not all hope is lost; after licking its wounds, the Empire (she, along with many others, immediately refuses to call it the ‘Remnant’) starts rebuilding. They form a new capital on Yaga Minor, including a new academy. The flight school on Corulag relocates to Bilbringi; better still, they still have an interest in Rhiona and Ravi. They leave Bakura a week after graduating from senior school, the Lascelles family finding their new home on Yaga Minor.

Rhiona makes it all of two weeks into flight school before discovering that she’s deathly claustrophobic. 

She returns home, in defeat and in despair. Momma encourages her to apply to universities, to keep her options open. And she does keep her options open; those options being drinking and partying, and making out (and more) with Malita Devair and Luka Fiersten. 

After two months of this she gets a call from the academy on Yaga Minor. Turns out her aptitude scores in comms, particularly in cryptic communications, were off the charts, and how would she like to attend at the request of the Empire? 

That’s not an offer you say “no” to. Not even when you and your momma get in a hollering match so loud that the local constable is called to your house. Acacia Lascelles, naturally, is hesitant to let her last baby go no matter how loyal they all may be to the Empire. Losing her husband Barret (gods and goddesses rest his soul) was the hardest day of her life, and every time she’s had to send one of her boys away not knowing if they’ll come back, a little piece of her dies, and she’s just not sure if she can handle doing the same with her sweet baby girl. 

When the yelling finally stops there are tears. Lots of tears. And hugs, and finally an acceptance (albeit a reluctant one) that Rhiona is an adult now and allowed to make her own decisions.

For being so far removed from the Core, and decidedly _not_ Royal Imperial of Coruscant, a lot of the students at the academy on Yaga Minor sure act like it is. Rhiona guesses that’s just what happens when the children of a bunch of Core-worlders are forced into limited territory and they’ve all grown up hearing stories of the “glory days of Imperial education.” The first time she gets called “Wild Space trash” she points out the irony of it when they’re all in Wild Space now, technically.

Then she suffers through an hour long lecture from one of the instructors on how this is _Imperial Space_ and not _Wild Space._

From that moment on, Rhiona keeps her head down and focuses on her studies. She (mostly) avoids tussles, instead devoting all of that energy to memorizing Imperial communications protocols and cryptic communication strategies. It serves her well, too; she graduates with highest honors, earning herself a commission on the _Devastator._ Sure, it’s not the newest ship of the fleet, or the fanciest, but her brother Jax is here.

No— _Commander_ Lascelles. She’ll have to get used to that, even if he’s not in her immediate chain of command (which is why she was even able to be assigned to the bridge in the first place.) And there’s her rank, too; (junior) lieutenant. It may ruffle some feathers, but that doesn’t matter because in the end she’s an officer in the Empire. 

All Rhiona has ever wanted to do was be a hero, just like her daddy.

And now, she’ll (hopefully) one day get the chance to do just that, all while helping restore the Empire to its former glory.

Better yet, she gets to do it with her _family_. 

Because if there’s anything even close to rivaling the love of the Empire for the Lascelles clan, it’s the love of family. And nothing will change that.


	2. 10 ABY - The Battle of Rhigar

_You better hold on, hold on, hold  
You better hold on to what you love.  
You better give up, give up, give up  
You better give up on giving up._

_ — _ _Deliverance,_ CHVRCHES

~~~

Rhiona had finished at the top of her class in all of the battle simulations at the academy, and while she’s only 22 and sometimes (too) naive, she’d like to think that she’s not young and naive enough to believe that a real battle would be anything like a simulation. But she’s just six months down the line, and for her first battle this is one  _ hell _ of a fight. 

Blood still slowly trickles from a cut on her forehead she received when intimately introduced to the communications console during a particularly violent blow to the ship's shields. Her head throbs, her vision slightly blurry; she knows she probably has a concussion, but when Captain Blythe had asked if she needed to go to a medbay she refused. The ship needs her. The  _ Empire _ needs her.

Her brothers need her, too.

Ravi, her twin, her best friend since birth, is out there somewhere, streaking across the stars in a TIE fighter. Mikal is out there too, leading a squadron. And Corbin— _ Commodore _ Lascelles—is commanding the bridge of one of those Star Destroyers. Each time an update comes in from the other ships she holds her breath and says a silent prayer to the gods and goddesses that her brothers’ squads or Corbin’s ship aren't among the latest casualties.

Which totaled 7,578 at last count.

In most circumstances having an eidetic memory is a blessing; her ability to memorize Imperial communications protocols, to encrypt and decrypt transmissions in less time than officers nearly 10 years her senior is exactly why she made (junior) lieutenant straight out of school. But now, as more casualty reports roll in, it feels like a curse, the number of dead Imperials forever etched in her mind like a festering wound.

The  _ Devastator _ shudders with another hard hit; Rhiona’s not sure how many more it can take. She catches Jax’s gaze as he paces across the command bridge; he may be doing his best to portray an air of calm during the chaos, but she knows her brother.

He’s worried.

Commander Jax Lascelles is  _ never _ worried.

She can feel the icy fingers of fear creep up her spine, feel her stomach twist in on itself, feel her breaths come in tiny, forced gasps.

_ Your daddy was a hero, Rhiona. Be a hero like daddy. _

Rhiona steels her nerves (or at least attempts to), shifting all of her fear and anxiety and any lingering pain into a hyperfocus on her duties. Every enemy communication she’s able to jam, every Imperial transmission she’s able to encrypt is a life saved.

_ You can do this, Rhiona. _

“Sir! Shields are at forty percent!” The report comes from several stations away in the communications pit, but it feels like the voice is right next to her for all the weight it carries.

“Hail the  _ Insidious _ — _ ” _

Rhiona’s fingers start flying across the comms panel before Captain Blythe’s order is even finished.

“See if they can—” He stops when he sees the look of horror slowly spreading across Rhiona’s face.

“Sir,” she has to swallow past the taste of bile before she can speak, her lips numb as she forces out the words she’s hoped to never have to utter. “Sir, the  _ Insidious _ was just destroyed.”

“What?! Helm, bring us about. I want a visual.” Captain Blythe seems shaken, but as the ship turns all eyes are on the viewport and the image of the fiery remains of the  _ Insidious _ , the newest ship of the Empire, the guiding force on this mission to restore the Empire to its former glory, is one that will remain with her for the rest of her life.

Was Corbin on that ship? He mentioned a potential transfer the last time they spoke, but that was almost a month ago now; this is what happens when your oldest brother makes commodore by 30. You lose track of his life, to the point that you’re not even sure what damn ship he’s on, and it’s not as if you can just start calling them all up in the middle of a battle to see if your big brother is okay.

For a long, horrible moment, it’s almost impossible to tear her eyes away from the carnage she’s bearing witness to. How many lives have just been lost?

_ At least 38,000. _

Everyone else must be thinking along the same lines, because the bridge has fallen into an eerie sort of silence. It’s the type of silence that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up and reminds her far too much of being in the eye of a storm back home on Bakura.

Seconds later, a harsh alarm pierces the silence as a voice rings out. “Sir, we’re being boarded!”

“Standard protocol! Lockdown the bridge! Comms, send out a distress signal!”

Rhiona opens a channel; nothing but static. She tries again; more static. Once more, with the same results.

“Sir, they’ve jammed our comms!” 

“Try to break through.” There’s desperation in that command, something she’s never heard from her captain before. When Rhiona glances up at him she can see the worry painted on his face, and when she spots her brother Jax she sees that same worry mirrored in his own expression.

“Yes sir.”

When Rhiona was 8 years old she nearly drowned; and right now she’s back in that lake, arms flailing as she struggles to get her head above water. She can feel her lungs burning, feel the fear and the panic and overwhelming sense of dread gripping at her chest as the world starts to pull in around her.

Nothing is working.

Every time she thinks she’s broken through the enemy’s jamming, there’s another layer of coding to unravel. If it weren’t such a matter of (literal) life or death, she’d be impressed.

The sensation of drowning only grows worse with each new (shouted) update.

“Sir! They’ve made it out of the docking bay!”

“Sir! They’ve reached deck ten!”

“Sir! They’ve reached the command level!”

It’s with that final (terrifying, gut wrenching) update that the first shot rings out.

And not from an enemy combatant; but from Captain Blythe.

He takes out the junior ranking officers on the command bridge, each with a quick shot to the back of the head. Commander Lascelles, her own  _ brother _ , takes aim at the officers in the pits, starting with the sensor pit on the starboard side. The officers in her pit have figured out what’s going on by the time Jax makes it over to them, some trying the door (that’s locked), others trying to climb their way out.

But not Rhiona.

Rhiona stands (trembling) proud, chin raised, looking her brother straight in the eye as he shoots the ones trying to escape before he aims the blaster at her. If protecting the Empire means avoiding capture, and avoiding capture means dying, then so be it. At least it’s her brother pulling the trigger, and at least she’ll get to see her daddy again.

“Long live the Empire.” Jax’s voice is even, showing no signs of regret or remorse.

But Jax doesn’t get a chance to pull the trigger, because the aliens have breached the bridge.

They’re tall, and big; what little skin is visible beneath the black combat armor is blue, they have red eyes, and they’re armed to the teeth. They’re  _ terrifying. _

Captain Blythe and Jax both turn their blasters on the blue freaks, both only managing to fire off a single shot before there’s two flashes of blue they’re both dropping to the deck with a loud  _ thud. _

Her brother’s lifeless eyes stare down at her from the command bridge...along with his blaster.

This is it. Her moment to be a hero, right within reach.

And when finally presented with that moment to be a hero, just like her daddy, Rhiona does not take it.

She doesn’t take it because her big brother is dead, she is scared, and there are massively huge blue aliens swarming the bridge, shouting things in a language that she doesn’t understand.

Rhiona doesn’t want to be a hero. Rhiona wants to go home.

Rhiona wants her momma.

The sound of the door to the communications pit swishing open draws her focus back to the present. In the doorway stands one of the blue aliens; a woman from what she can tell, who levels her weapon on Rhiona and issues something that sounds like an order. When Rhiona doesn’t immediately comply the woman repeats the foreign words, and that’s when Rhiona finally acts, but not in any way the alien may be expecting.

Using her (short) height to her advantage, Rhiona makes a run for it, ducking down low at the last second to slide past the woman and out of the pit. It (actually) works.

Growing up with four brothers has its advantages.

And she’s going to need every single one of those advantages, because the victory is a rather short lived one as she spots three more of the enemy soldiers heading her way. She turns and makes a run for it; she’s always been fast, but for being so  _ large _ they’re faster, and a hand shoots out, grabbing her by the back of her uniform.

She immediately starts fighting back, kicking and hitting (and yelling); Rhiona always fought dirty, and now is no exception. She claws at their face, pulls at their hair, hisses, and even spits. It’s no small sense of twisted satisfaction she feels at seeing the glob of spittle land perfectly square in the middle of the alien’s face.That, and nothing else, seems to be the limit, and she’s rather unceremoniously dropped to the deck. 

Now, most people in Rhiona’s situation would stay down.

What these aliens have yet to learn, however, is that Rhiona is not most people.

She’s back up on her feet before the alien can even finish wiping the spit from their face. Adrenaline is one hell of a thing, giving her a fighting edge, the determination to keep going—

Right up until her legs are swept out from under her with a swift kick and she goes back down,  _ hard,  _ and instead of getting up herself she’s being pulled up by an arm wrapping around her neck. And that arm is  _ squeezing _ , slowly, terrifyingly cutting off her oxygen. Her feet scramble for purchase on the deck, her hands grabbing and hitting and slapping at the arm choking her. She’s crying, too, begging in tiny, pleading gasps, and though it’s nearly impossible to tell through the panic and fear she swears the voice speaking to her carries a slightly soothing tone as the world around her turns to black.

When she wakes up she’s on some sort of transport ship, her wrists shackled to her waist and feet. There are others just like her, other  _ humans _ , other Imperials. She even recognizes a few from the  _ Devastator _ . They’re all still in their uniforms, a slight comfort (she supposes). Nobody is speaking though, something she’s determined to change, and she catches the eye of the person (prisoner?) across from her. 

“Where do ya think they’re takin’ us?” She asks, full volume. One of Rhiona’s (biggest) problems in life has always been never knowing when to keep her mouth shut. 

“Shhh!” He hisses while glaring at her for all of three seconds before tearing his gaze away.

She narrows her eyes at him. “ _ Rude. _ ”

The guard closest to her makes a noise, something close to clearing his throat, before he speaks. “Retan'cehah.”

Rhiona glances up at him, plastering her best former Miss Bakura contestant smile on her face. “Listen, mister, I have no idea what you just said. Don’t any of y’all speak Basic?” The guard doesn’t immediately respond, though she swears she sees him trying to shape his mouth around the word “y’all”.

“Shut  _ up _ , Wild Space trash.” The insult comes from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, but it’s loud enough to carry and she’s immediately seeking out the person with the audacity to say such a thing and  _ not _ to her face; the voice is vaguely familiar and she just needs to put a face to the words to confirm their owner.

“Hey!” It’s awkward standing up in shackles, but she manages somehow, shooting to her feet. “Didn’t your momma ever teach you that if you ain’t got nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say nothing at all?”

The same guard who spoke to her now has his hands on her, holding her back as though he knows she was ready to leap at whichever asshole it is that told her to shut up. She tries to break free from his grasp, which only causes it to grow tighter. Which, in turn, only triggers her need to  _ fight.  _ Or at least fight as best as she can with her hands and legs out of commission, which basically amounts to a lot of squirming around. And cursing. And, when she spots another one of the aliens coming towards her, this one dressed more like a medic than a soldier and he’s holding some sort of syringe, her struggles become more panicked.

“No, please!” Her voice, high pitched and filled with terror repeats the words over and over, up until the moment the other alien (medic?) reaches her. Then there’s a sharp pinch in her neck, and once again the world around her turns to black.

>>>>>.....outgoing encrypted message.....<<<<<

New human prisoners arrived. Overall a disappointing lot in terms of potential subjects. The humans are overwhelmingly male, and those that are female appear to be well beyond safe child-bearing ages. 

Will update again with any further developments.

Yours in science,

–L

>>>>>.....end transmission.....<<<<<


	3. Rei’cs’enb’ahcs Penitentiary, Sposia

_Careful when you're swimming in the holy water,_   
_Drowning in your own beliefs._   
_Careful when you're standing at a broken altar,_   
_Asking if we feel relief._

_— Deliverance,_ CHVRCHES

~~~

This time she wakes up in a cell.

Granted it’s a rather  _ nice _ cell. Not that she has much (any) experience in such things in which to form a basis of comparison, but the bed has an actual pillow and blanket, there’s a privacy partition covering the toilet, and the cell itself is practically the size of the quarters she had shared with her roommate back on the  _ Devastator. _ She’s still in her uniform, too, though her belt, code cylinders, and rank plate are gone. And least she’s not alone here, either, but her roommate (fellow inmate) is older, older than her oldest brother even, and a commodore from the Core that attended Royal Imperial who likes to remind Rhiona of this fact at  _ every _ opportunity.

Needless to say, they don’t engage in many conversations.

Rhiona (quietly) cries herself to sleep that first night. And the next night. And during her first interrogation session.

The other human in the room (who looks vaguely familiar for some reason) hasn’t even finished translating the harsh words of the alien before she just...loses it, bursting into tears. Rhiona’s not even sure what triggers it specifically; stress, of course. She’s locked up in a prison (with a name she can’t even begin to pronounce) on some alien planet (with a name she can pronounce but doesn’t care to), with no knowledge of her other brothers or how long she’ll be here. None of the guards speak Basic, her roommate is mean to her, she’s lonely, she misses her momma and she just wants to go home.

She’s also  _ terrified. _ What if they determine that she’s of little value to them? She’s not a commodore or a captain or even a commander; she’s a junior lieutenant in communications who has  _ definitely _ not had any sort of training in resisting interrogation methods. Not that they even get a chance to use any interrogation methods on her, not when she, well, basically breaks down the second Mean Blue Guy opens his damn mouth.

Blonde Guy is trying to calm her down, saying all sorts of soothing things to her, but it’s having the exact opposite effect because right now all she wants is her momma, and he is  _ definitely _ not her momma. After letting out a particularly loud sob while tugging at the binders securing her wrists to the table she hears the door open, and she glances up to see the same medic from the transport ship, syringe in hand.

_ Not again. _

Rhiona shakes her head, trying desperately to gain control of herself, but it seems that they’ve reached a limit when she hears Blonde Guy saying something about her being a “lost cause”, and Mean Blue Guy moves to hold her still so the medic can inject her with whatever is in the syringe. Instead of immediately getting swept under by unconsciousness like before, she feels her limbs growing heavy and her eyes get all droopy. But she remains aware of what’s happening, confusion bubbling to the surface when Blonde Guy follows the guards half-carrying/half-dragging her back to her cell. That confusion grows when he then proceeds to help her into bed after the binders have been removed, and though he stops short of tucking her in he does remove her boots once she’s laying down and thank  _ gods and goddesses _ that her roommate isn’t here because there’s no way she’d ever let her live this down.

Once Blonde Guy leaves the tears finally stop, whether a result of her simply having none left or from the drug itself she can’t be sure. Either way, she’s left feeling empty and drained. Like she’s a failure.

No; she  _ is _ a failure.

She is weak.

An embarrassment to the Empire.

All Rhiona Lascelles has ever wanted to be was a hero, just like her daddy.

And the single thought weighing on her mind as she feels the effects of the drug finally pulling her under is that now that’s never going to happen.

~~~

The second interrogation session goes better than the first, if the only measurement of “better” is the fact that she doesn’t immediately burst into tears this time.

It’s only been three days since the (disaster of a) first session, and while that may not seem like a lot of time, for someone in Rhiona’s position, three days seems like an eternity. Three days is a (very) long time to contemplate her situation; to sit in it, to soak in the sensation of helplessness and despair. To let the anxiety and fear seep into her bones. Three days is also a very (very) long time to think about the issue of fate; her fate, first and foremost. (What do they want from her? How long will she even be here? What will they do with her once they have what they want?) But also the fate of others, like her brothers (the three she  _ didn’t _ witness dropping dead), her friends (did she really even  _ have _ any?), and all the rest of the brave souls of the Empire who had bravely fought at Rhigar.

That last thought, of the others, the survivors, is what gets her through those three days. She needs to be strong, needs to  _ fight _ for the Empire. No more tears, no more weakness. These (giant, intimidating) blue freaks won’t get a damn thing from her.

She struggles when they come for her, not allowing the weight of the binders on her wrists to dampen her efforts (or her spirits). The guard almost seems... _ amused _ by it, simply holding her out at an arm’s length by the back of her uniform as he practically carries her down the corridor. And somehow, despite the size difference, he’s still gentle as he gets her into the chair, securing her wrists to the table before he steps off to the side. Rhiona gives him a good long look while she waits, and for whatever reason she thinks of her oldest brother, Corbin.

_ No. _

This, this... _ alien _ , this  _ enemy, _ is not her brother.

Giving herself a mental shake of the head, she tears her gaze away from him and focuses on the door, waiting for Mean Blue Guy and Blonde Guy to enter. In fact, she’s actually looking forward to it, because she knows who Blonde Guy is now; she’d finally been able to place him last night, and for good reason. The image of Brierly Ronan had been plastered all over the Imperial newsfeeds 10 years ago when he’d deserted, and how he’s  _ here _ , with these aliens.

Rhiona can hardly wait to rip into him, to say some of the things she remembers hearing her brothers (and momma) say.

She perks up when the door opens, back straight, chin held high, eyes focused on some random spot on the wall as Ronan and Mean Blue Guy walk in. Except it’s  _ not _ Mean Blue Guy; it’s...it’s a honest to goodness  _ ghost. _ Rhiona feels the blood leaving her face and a chill run up and down her spine. Clearly she hasn’t been getting enough sleep, and clearly the stress of everything is getting to her, because the man standing in the far corner of the room  _ is not real. _ Rather than try to process this, she ignores it, settling her focus on Ronan.

“Good morning.” He has the audacity to smile at her, and it takes every ounce of her former beauty pageant experience to not laugh at him. “Can you start out by telling us your name?”

“I don’t give my name to traitors like you, Brierly Ronan.” She sees the slight frown mar his perfect expression, and finally lets a (bitter) laugh slip out. “That’s right; I know who you are. Traitor.”

So far, he seems altogether nonplussed by her words. Either he’s gotten used to the word being thrown at him, or he’s come to terms with what he is. “We just need your name, miss.” Well, at least he’s a polite traitor.

“What was it like, turnin’ your back on the Empire like that?” Rhiona stares him down like he’s one of the bullies she dealt with on a near weekly basis at the academy on Yaga Minor, and not like she’s a prisoner with her hands cuffed to the table in an interrogation room in a prison on some alien planet. “Was it even worth it? To leave it all behind and align yourself with these...these blue  _ things _ ?” Now  _ that _ strikes a nerve; she can see a slight twitch in the corner of Ronan’s eye, so she presses on. “What even  _ are _ they? They look like Pantorans with an eye condition.”

“They are Chiss, and as your hosts—who have shown great kindness as of yet—you should show a little more respect, young lady.” He’s damn near apoplectic as he forces the words out.

Rhiona can’t stop the self-satisfied smirk that spreads across her face;  _ Chiss. _ She finally has a name for her captors, and she’s just managed to turn this interrogation on its head. After waiting a beat, she drops the smirk, glaring at him as she leans in. “The Chiss killed my brother. I will  _ never _ show them respect.” Pure hatred drips from her words. “I will  _ never _ turn my back on the Empire like you did.”

Ronan (very) calmly sets what looks like a datapad down on the table. It’s a report of some kind, the foreign script indecipherable to her. 

“Oh? Is that why you ran when faced with capture, instead of standing your ground and fighting?” Now he’s the one with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Rhiona flinches, the memory of it all still too raw. She shifts back in the chair, her posture clearly deflated (and defeated), and focuses her gaze on the table instead of Ronan’s. “Lascelles, Rhiona. Lieutenant. 7591638.” There. Name, rank, serial number. That’s what they say you’re supposed to give in these situations.

(Actually, she has  _ no _ idea what “they” say, because she hasn’t had any training for these situations; it’s honestly just something she saw in a Wynssa Starflare holofilm.)

“How old are you, Rhiona?” 

Her head snaps up at that question, eyes narrowed as she pins Ronan with a proper glare. “Didn’t your momma ever teach you never to ask a lady her age?” Her accent, while always present, comes out in full force with that question.

There’s a slight chuckle from the corner of the room, which Rhiona pointedly ignores. “Where are you from, Rhiona?” And she especially ignores  _ that _ , because sane people don’t have conversations with ghosts.

“The admiral asked you a question, lieutenant.” Ronan interjects, as though a traitor pulling rank will have any effect. But it does, though not in the way she imagines he was expecting—more in the sense that he’s  _ acknowledging _ the presence of the ghost.

A nervous little laugh escapes her lips and she shakes her head. “So not only are you a traitor, you’ve also clearly gone insane. There ain’t nobody else in this room.”

Ronan frowns slightly. “Rhiona, that,” he gestures towards the ghost, “is Grand Admiral Eli’vant, and he—”

“Commander Eli Vanto died at the Batonn Insurgency over thirteen years ago.” She cuts him off, her words harsh yet carrying the pride of every Wild Space kid who’d grown up hearing the story. “So either you really are crazy, or you’re drugging me.” Rhiona can feel the blood leaving her face, again, at that realization, because they have drugged her already. Twice. “That’s it, ain’t it?” For the first time since being brought to the room, she tugs at the cuffs securing her to the table, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here. “What’d you do to me?” Her voice takes on a small, desperate tone. “It was in the food, wasn’t it?”

“Rhiona.” Not!Eli Vanto says her name in what she knows is meant to be a calming manner as he trades spots with Ronan. “We aren’t drugging you. I assure you that I’m real.” At this he takes her hands in his (very firm,  _ warm _ ) hands. Hands that aren’t cold or slimy or anything else she imagined a ghost’s hands would feel like.

Her brows furrow slightly while she stares down at their hands for a few beats before shifting her gaze to Not!Eli’s, skepticism written across her face. “Yeah, well, if you really are Eli Vanto, then where’s your accent?” If her hands weren’t currently bound, they’d be on her hips with that question. It’s a valid question; Eli Vanto—the  _ real _ Eli Vanto—was from Lysatra. Their conversation should be bordering on incomprehensible to non-Wild Spacers right now.

Not!Eli lets out a small sigh while shaking his head. “Well, with  _ that _ accent, Miss Rhiona, I’m guessin’ you’re from Bakura.” And  _ there _ it is, the Lysatran accent in full force. “Now, it’s been a while, but from what I remember y'all'd've wound up alignin’ with the New Republic and not the Remnant. So what’s up with that?”

Rhiona’s jaw drops. The infamous  _ y’all’d’ve _ , the one any Wild Spacer in Imperial Service, no matter how loyal to their homeworld, tries to keep locked up tightly in a little box never to see the light of day. And he’s just gone and dropped it in front of Ronan, who is so painfully obviously  _ not _ a fellow Wild Spacer. This has to be the real Eli Vanto. Either that, or she’s had a complete mental breakdown after only three days of captivity.

“But—” She flounders, blinking a few times. “I don’t—” This can’t be real. “You—” Tears sting at her eyes. “What is goin’ on?” Her voice carries the panic rising up in her chest.

“I’m  _ real, _ Rhiona.” His voice is back to business now, carrying a commanding tone. “But that’s not what we’re here to discuss. Let’s start with something simple; what was your role on the  _ Devastator _ ?”

She flinches slightly, both at hearing the name of her former ship and at the fact that they know it in the first place. Then again (she tries to tell herself) they were probably able to pull the ident codes from one of their transmissions. It’s not that difficult to do, and the Chiss had proven their worth when they had jammed the _Devastator'_ s comms. Still, she’s not going to budge so easily. 

Rhiona shifts her gaze back to the table. “Lascelles, Rhiona. Lieutenant. 7591638.” Her voice shakes a little more saying it the second time around, because in all those holofilms this is usually when the interrogation starts getting rough. Her body tenses in anticipation for it—a slap, having her head slammed into the table—something.

Instead...there’s nothing. 

A quick glance up to Eli reveals that he’s, well, disappointed isn’t the right word. More like...pensive. Thoughtful. Concerned, even, which is not at all what she was expecting from this. She watches him share a quick look with Ronan, a look that’s obviously some sort of silent conversation, then he nods to the guard stationed in the back of the room. Just like that, the interrogation is over and she’s escorted back to her cell.

And left very, very confused.

~~~

She lasts a whole  _ week _ before she gets in her first tussle.

(Momma would be proud.)

While their keepers don’t exactly give them free reign, they’re not locked in their cells at all hours either. But they are expected to adhere to a schedule, with allotted times for transitioning between each activity and everything. It reminds Rhiona entirely too much of senior school, which may be partially why she gets in the tussle in the first place. But it happens during one of those transition periods, in the large corridor (where, come to think of it, most of her tussles in senior school had taken place as well.)

“Wild Space  _ trash. _ ” It’s the same voice from the transport shuttle, only this time it’s much louder and much closer, and she’s not in shackles.

Rhiona stops in her tracks, immediately seeking out the owner of the voice, not at all surprised to see who it is.

Lance Vitalis. Coruscant-born, arrogant, and perpetual thorn in her side at the academy on Yaga Minor. He’d thrown the insult at her on an almost weekly basis. Back then, slugging a fellow student, let alone a Core-worlder, would have been career suicide. But now, at a prison where they’re all equals?

She doesn’t even waste a single second in throwing the first punch. Lance, not expecting it, goes down. Hard. The  _ thud _ of his body brings about an indescribable amount of pleasure...and a crowd, a group of fellow prisoners having now formed a circle around them as Rhiona pounces on top of Lance and gets in another good, solid punch. She’s about to get in a third when she feels herself being lifted up and away, her brain taking a moment to put two and two together to realize that one of the guards has finally decided to intervene.

Adrenaline still pumping, she kicks and screams as she’s dragged down the corridor. They come to a stop at a door, and there’s a brief tapping of the control panel before she’s (surprisingly gently) shoved inside. The door closes, locking her in, and—

_ I can’t breathe. _

It’s a small room, just a bed and a toilet and nothing else, and with each breath it seems to shrink by a full meter. Her lungs seize up, her breaths coming in tiny, forced gasps, and when she turns back around it’s to start pounding on the door.

“Lemme out! Please!” She repeats the words, again and again and again until she’s sobbing them out and her fists ache from slamming against the metal.

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, the door opens. She jumps back, spotting two guards in full body armor. One of them is holding...a blanket? They get her on the bed before she can even think to ask what’s happening, and she thrashes about as they try to pin her in place.

“What’re you doin’ to me?!” Tears stream down her face. It feels like they’re trying to suffocate her. Is this some sort of twisted punishment?

“Rt'esah.” One of them says. She has no idea what it means, but he repeats it again, and it’s enough to distract her as they get her bundled in the blanket until they’ve got her wrapped up like...like a wild tooka.

Or a baby.

The latter rings more true as one of the guards picks her up, practically cradling her. The next set of tears she sheds are ones borne more of embarrassment than fear or rage, but even those soon dissipate the longer she’s held because despite the awkwardness of it, despite the fact that she’s 22 and being treated like an infant, there’s no denying just how comforting it really is when she stops thinking and just  _ feels _ . Just lets go of it all.

Turns out that the “blanket treatment” works; it works so well, in fact, that not only does she calm down enough to the point that she’s able to walk on her own power back to her cell, but it becomes the new standard operating procedure when dealing with her...outbursts. Be it in the interrogation room or in the hallway, the guards are always within reach of a blanket.

By the end of the second week, the Chiss have managed to wrangle up a load of grey uniforms that actually fit the majority of the human prisoners. Rhiona is (naturally) somewhat reluctant to give up her Imperial uniform; there’s something significant to the act of stripping out of the familiar and stepping into the foreign. It doesn’t sit right with her (the meaning behind it, not the uniform itself), but by the time the third week rolls around she’s more concerned with the fact that she can’t understand most of what the guards and other prison employees are saying.

Sure, some of the guards seem to have a few, well, basics in Basic; like “stop” and “move” and “no” (which interestingly enough, they seem to use with her the most, go figure.) But even still, she knows it would make things a lot easier if they could move beyond those simple words, and seeing as how her grasp of Old Bakuran isn’t going to do her a lick of good here, she wishes she could learn the Chiss language.

At the end of that third week she gets her wish when one of the guards—the one most commonly around when it’s time for a “blanket treatment”— walks into the library and plops himself down at her table with a slight grin on his face.

“Hello.” 

He says it in Basic; heavily accented Basic, but it’s such a treat to hear something other than the standard orders from the guards that Rhiona feels a sense of relief wash over her.

“Hi.” She doesn’t offer him a smile, but she’s (incredibly) polite in her response, more polite than she is with anyone else.

“Kivu’iskeli’sabosen.” He holds a hand to his chest.

Rhiona gapes a little at that. “Kivuisk...I’m sorry, what?” She lets out a short laugh, to which he meets with his own.

“Kivu’iskeli’sabosen.” He repeats, holding his hands up in a wide gap before shortening the gap. “Vuiskelisa.” 

It sounds like  _ Vis-kel-sah _ , which is a lot easier to wrap her mouth around than the longer version, so she gives it a shot. “Vuiskelisa.”

He grins, then and holds his hands up again in a wide gap, nodding to her.

“Oh.” She thinks she’s starting to get it. “Rhiona Lascelles.” She watches him shorten the gap in his hands once more, the gears in her mind turning as she recalls a word she’s heard him (and, come to think of it, a few of the other guards) use around her that’s possibly not just  _ any _ word. “Nala?”

“ _ Mar _ . Yes.” 

Oh.  _ Oh. _ So Nala is the Chiss-ified version of her name that he and others have started using for her. And  _ only _ for her. She’s not exactly sure how to feel about that, but the immediate feeling is one of belonging. Which is...confusing, a feeling that grows when she spots him pulling out the Chiss equivalent of a datapad.

“I teach you Cheunh.” He seems proud of himself while bringing up the screen; it looks like some sort of children’s book, the style vaguely reminding her of the “learn to read” ones she had used on Bakura.

“Why?”

His brow furrows for a moment, no doubt as he tries to find the right words in Basic. “You are like little sister.”

_ Sister. _

That single word is enough to bring tears to her eyes, which she blinks away and instead offers him the first genuine smile to grace her lips in three weeks. “Well alright then.” She gestures for him to get started; if it’s a children’s book, how hard can it be?

_ Hard. _ Very hard. But in true Lascelless stick-to-itiveness (stubbornness), she tries out all the words, no doubt butchering over half of them. Vuiskelisa, for his part, is very much a Big Brother as he reads it aloud and (patiently) waits for her attempts. He laughs with her, not at her, and by the time they finish the book she’s in stitches. 

They meet twice, sometimes three times a week in the library for lessons. Each day he brings a new book, and each day she struggles through the words. The lessons include more practical things, too. Like the different planets (and how it’s Csilla with a “ch”), basic differences (it’s a  _ questis,  _ not a  _ datapad _ ), and that you should never say “Good morning” or “Good night”, but a different greeting instead.

Vuiskelisa is quick to earn the full Big Brother badge after only two weeks when he insists on taking her to the medcenter when she cuts her hand while on kitchen duty one day; it’s honestly not even that bad of a cut, something that she could have easily cleaned off and slapped a bactapatch on, but he  _ fusses _ over her, just like one of her biological brothers would have. It’s actually endearing, if not a bit annoying, and the fussing only gets worse when she gets to the medcenter and one of the medics winds up doing damn near close to a complete physical (something about how it had been overlooked during her intake) including a blood draw.

Rhiona, though frustrated by all the (damn) fussing, seizes the opportunity to practice her Cheunh with someone other than Vuiskelisa.

“Veo cart veo nuhn?” There; something as simple as asking the medic her name is a good start.

The medic makes a weird face, either unexpecting a human to speak Cheunh, or slightly perturbed that someone is speaking to her while she’s tapping away at her questis. But she recovers quickly, even offering Rhiona a small (albeit pinched looking) smile. “Dasklo’oro’laoaih. Vah ch'im vuv ch'ah Loorola.”

Alright, she thinks she got the gist of that; Dasklo’oro’laoaih, and Rhiona can call her by her short ( _ core _ ) name of Loorola. She goes to try out some more Cheunh, but Loorola is brusque in her dismissal of Rhiona, giving her a clean bill of health before sending her on her way. Rhiona wants to say something about it, but stops herself; she knows better than to sass the person that sticks needles in you.

It’s close enough to library time when they leave the medcenter that she and Vuiskelisa decide to get a head start on her lessons for today; his, too. While he’s been (doing his best to) teach her Cheunh, she too has been (doing her best) to teach him Basic. And though neither can carry on a complete conversation in the other’s language, there’s something deeply satisfying about teaching a Chiss to say “y’all”.

More than that, though, is the deep feelings of friendship she feels forming. She’s never had a friend like this before. Not even in senior school, and especially not at the academy on Yaga Minor. And the longer she spends around Vuiskelisa, the less she thinks of him as just a friend; he really is like a brother. Not a replacement, either. Nobody will ever replace Corbin or Jax or Mikal or Ravi. No, Vuiskelisa is like a new brother, a bonus brother. One that came about when she needed him the most. 

One that will make her time at the Rei’cs’enb’ahcs Penitentiary just a little better.

>>>>>.....outgoing encrypted message.....<<<<<

Potential human subject identified. Human Prisoner 10601010 is a healthy female, aged 22 human standard years. No bonding ring or bracelet or other markings noted upon brief physical exam. Limited access to interrogation records show high achievement scores in Lesser Space education system and multiple siblings. 

Subject’s blood was drawn during exam; sending the results for your analysis.

One minor potential complication; a guard (a Kivu  _ and _ a Sabosen, the poor thing) has developed quite the affinity for HP–10601010. Will monitor situation closely.

Yours in science,

–L

>>>>>.....end transmission.....<<<<<

At two months in, Rhiona’s finding that the hardest things to adjust to are the ones she least expected.

Like the Chiss themselves; they’re still large and intimidating (because they’re so large), but, really, for prison guards they’re not all that bad (most are calling her Nala now, anyway.) The showers, too, are an adjustment. Not the fact that they’re communal; she’s used to that from the academy and ship life, but the fact that they use real water, and plenty of it too. And then there’s the food, which is sometimes a little odd, and so very foreign. But it’s also so completely different from the standard Imperial fare; as in it has actual  _ flavor _ and  _ variety _ and  _ color. _ It’s nowhere close to Bakuran food, but having something that actually deserves to be called “food” in the first place and not “nutritive substance of some variety” is a treat.

The snow is  _ really _ hard to adjust to. They’ve been allowed to go outside for fresh air and exercise since their arrival, but the first day she spots the strange white stuff falling from the sky she nearly squeals in delight. It never snowed on Bakura, and only snowed in certain parts of Yaga Minor (parts she, of course, never went.) For a while she worries that their keepers won’t let them outside anymore with the turning of the weather, but just as the smaller uniforms had appeared one day, so does a shipment of jackets and hats and gloves. 

(And when she catches the Chiss word for “youth” on one of the tags, she gets a sneaking suspicion as to where they came from.)

What’s not difficult to adjust to at all are the most expected things.

Like the insults; someone (and not always Lance Vitalis) finds it within themselves to call her “Wild Space trash” on an almost weekly basis, which means she winds up in a tussle on an almost weekly basis. The guards have long since gotten used to this, and sometimes they (especially Vuiskelisa) even let her get in a few good hits before breaking things up.

The bullies, too, are no surprise. There’s her own roommate, Captain Annison. And Annison’s cronies—Boritz and Lashik, who seem to share a brain between the two of them. Rhiona is, unfortunately, stuck with them; they share a table for meals and while they’re not on the exact same daily schedule, they always somehow wind up finding a way to enter each other’s orbits.

All three of them are in the library when she enters it in the middle of the ninth week; she’s early, because she’s excited, because it’s the sixth week of her Cheunh lessons with Vuiskelisa and she feels like she’s starting to make some real progress. Their presence puts a damper on that excitement, and she frowns as she takes a seat.

“Well if it isn’t the human pet.” Bortiz kicks things off, as usual.

“What is it that they call you? I can never understand what they’re saying in that ridiculous language of theirs.” There’s Lashik, close in second.

“Lascelles would know, she’s been learning it.” And finally Captain Annison, to bring up the rear. “It’s cute, almost. Like teaching a pet dog how to beg.”

Rhiona sees red and flies to her feet, but stops short of jumping over the table when Vuiskelisa (finally) walks in. “Nala.” The way he says her name, his voice booming and authoritative, is a warning and an order all in one.

“Sit, Nala.” Boritz says, his laughter cruel and biting.

Lashik is about to deliver his own line, then goes quiet with one look from Vuiskelisa. All three of the bullies stand up, and while they’re taller than Rhiona (to be fair, almost everyone who isn’t a child is taller than Rhiona), every single one of the Chiss personnel stationed here is taller. They stare each other down for all of three seconds before the Imperials realize this is not a fight they’re going to win. Rhiona watches them leave, not sitting down until Vuiskelisa is at the table and pulling up the day’s lesson on his questis.

Now she just has to figure out how to say “Teach me how to say all the bad words” in Cheunh.

(She does.

And he’s more than willing to teach her some of the more creative insults.)

  
  
  
  



	4. Rei’cs’enb’ahcs Penitentiary, Sposia

_Trust me when I talk about the disillusion,_   
_Building up and letting go._

_— Deliverance,_ CHVRCHES

~~~

>>>>>.....outgoing encrypted message....<<<<<

Agree that while blood quantities are low, they remain consistent with previous results in other subjects; would have suggested inclusion of HP–10601010 as a human subject regardless of results due to age, health, and recorded level of intelligence.

According to interrogation records, subject’s mother produced five children, a good sign of fertility in humans. Will attempt to administer concentrated doses of prenatal vitamins when convenient and begin tracking of subject’s menstrual cycles.

Yours in science,

–L

>>>>>.....end transmission.....<<<<<

At three months in, Rhiona prides herself on the fact that she still hasn’t given them much of anything.

Sure, they know her name and how old she is, and where she’s from and that she’s a communications officer and that she has (had?) four brothers and a nephew and two nieces...but aside from that, she hasn’t given them anything  _ useful. _

And, okay, so the interrogation sessions have become more like  _ conversations _ with Eli, both of them easily slipping into familiar territory and casual parlance like only two folks from Wild Space can. Even Ronan is starting to grow on her (when she finds out he’s getting married she can’t help but think about her brothers and how much Ronan reminds her of their excitement about their impending nuptials.)

And,  _ fine, _ maybe she knows some things about Eli too (and Ronan), like how and why he (they) left the Empire, and  _ maybe _ that knowledge has been sitting somewhat heavy with her. Gnawing at her strongly held beliefs. Cracking her exterior.

But she hasn’t broken yet.

(Except for when she’s  _ broken down _ , like just last week when Eli had asked about her family, and it made her miss her momma something  _ real _ fierce, and she had started sobbing, and then Vuiskelisa had to perform a “blanket treatment” right then and there.)

Rhiona, in her opinion, is handling this whole prisoner of war thing just fine, thank you very much. 

So of course Eli has to go and flip the script on her.

Rather than starting out like a normal interrogation session with a round of simple questions to ease her into things, Eli comes out of the gates swinging today. 

“Do you even know why you were at Rhigar?”

Rhiona’s not sure if she wants to flinch or roll her eyes; they’ve been over this before, at least a dozen (if not more) times. “I already told ya. We were after an asset that would help restore the Empire to its former glory.” Her words lack the fervor they once held; now it seems more like a rote performance, and if she’s aware of that than so is Eli.

“And what was the asset?”

He has her there,  _ dammit _ , and this time she does flinch a little, because Rhiona has no idea what they were actually after. Just that it was of the utmost importance to find. Her silence speaks volumes, and as she stares down at the table she catches Eli pulling out his questis.

“One of the guards here, an Irizi, has a nephew. Cute little thing.” He explains as he cues up a video. “Anyway, her sister sent this to her just the other day. I thought you might like to see it.”

Rhiona’s not sure if she wants to see it, or where this is going, but curiosity gets the better of her and she plucks the questis from Eli’s hand and presses “play”. Sure enough, there’s an adorable little Chiss boy, right around the size of her nephew Barret on the screen. He’s playing with a, well, a green toddler, and she can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl but it looks to be the same size as her niece Keely.

“You see, the Chiss value children above all else. They’re sacred, almost.” Eli continues as Rhiona watches the video, and she’s unable to stop a smile from forming when the two toddlers burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. “One could even say that children are one of the Chiss’ most precious assets.”

Her head snaps up at that last word.

_ No. _

She glances back down at the questis, at the little green toddler, feeling a sense of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. When the two toddlers giggle again, she hits “stop” and drops the questis as though she’s just been burned.

“I don’t believe you.” She shakes her head, licking her lips, her mouth gone dry. “They wouldn’t—”

But they would.

This is the same Empire that built not one, but  _ two _ Death Stars to squash a rebellion. What’s fifteen ships to go after a small (innocent) green child?

Her thoughts are pulled to the battle, to the upwards of 40,000 (or more) dead and how many children are now going to grow up without a momma or a daddy. She thinks about her own brothers, about Jax, and how little Namiah, just a few months old when they left for Rhigar, won’t even get a chance to know her daddy at all. And she thinks about Corbin, and how she still has no idea what happened to him, and how Barret and Keely might grow up without a daddy just like she did. 

And for what?

Not to restore the Empire to its former glory.

_ It was all a lie. All of it. _

For the first time in her life, Rhiona Lascelles is angry at the Empire.

“I’d like to go back to my cell now, please.” She asks through clenched teeth.

“No.”

Rhiona’s reaction to that single word of denial is, well, it’s not pretty. It takes three guards to get her into the blanket, and nearly an hour for her to calm down enough to walk back to her cell, but even that is nothing compared to the day that she finally breaks.

It happens just past the four month mark; she’s had a few weeks to think about the “asset” and why they were at Rhigar and her role in all of it. Time to really sit in her feelings; to stew in the anger and guilt and confusion. Time to let it build to the point that she’s not even in the interrogation room when the final crack in the dam expands and she just...explodes.

They have to take her to the medcenter and sedate her; not even the (four this time) guards wrapping her up in a blanket does any good.

Waking up with her wrists restrained to the bed in the medcenter is the lowest she’s ever felt. She stays in that funk for a full two weeks, finally turning a corner when she can’t stop thinking about her brothers and she reaches a decision with herself.

“I’m ready to talk.” Rhiona tells Eli before he even gets a chance to take a seat at the table in the interrogation room. “But not for nothin’.” She crosses her arms over her chest; the fact that they’re still allowing her to remain unrestrained after her...episode is not lost on her. “I wanna know what happened to my other brothers; if they’re locked up somewhere else, or if you found their bodies.”

Eli takes this request into consideration—a bit too lengthy, if you ask her. It’s all for show, she’s sure. He’s a  _ grand admiral _ . Her demands aren’t that difficult, or that unreasonable, and she’s damn near close to rolling her eyes at him and telling him off when he finally nods. 

“I’ll see what we can find out.”

>>>>>.....outgoing encrypted message.....<<<<<

Subject was admitted to medcenter for sedation after a particularly violent outburst. No injuries sustained. Administered concentrated dose of prenatal vitamins.

Subject is prone to these strong emotional outbursts; recommend stringent routine of forceful operant conditioning and removal of excess stimuli upon retrieval to correct.

Yours in science,

–L

>>>>>.....end transmission.....<<<<<

Four months turn to five, and then before she knows it she’s been here for  _ six whole months. _ Half a standard year. Most days it doesn’t feel like that; it’s more like she’s just arrived. Some days it feels like she’s been here her entire life. But overall, it’s actually not all that bad. There’s a routine to things, one that she’s able to fully settle into shortly after month three. It’s comfortable, predictable; if anything, it’s almost like being back on board the  _ Devastator... _ just with the addition of the crushing guilt of questioning her loyalty on an almost daily basis every time she (willingly) walks into the interrogation room.

And then one day that routine changes.

A large group of prisoners, all of the older, higher ranking ones, disappeared early that morning, only to return right before the evening meal. Nobody, not even the guards (not even Vuiskelisa) would talk about what was going on, with the exception of Rhiona’s tablemates. They, it seemed, were willing to discuss the day’s events in full, gory detail.

“There had to be  _ thousands _ gathered there, all out in the freezing cold.” Boritz says as he shovels food into his mouth.

“And the sword; it was at  _ least _ a meter and a half long.” Lashik chimes in.

“I’d say closer to 1 point 8. And it was wide, too. A decimeter wide’s my guess.” That addition comes from Captain Annison. 

Rhiona, meanwhile, is doing her best to ignore all of this, shoveling the food around on her plate as the others recount the public execution of one Captain Fillia Rossi.

_ Public Execution. _ She doesn’t want to think about it, what it means for the others here. What it means for her. But the three people sitting at the table will not. stop. talking about it.

“And the woman who did it,” Boritz again, “they called her the  _ Sovereign.  _ Most feared woman among all the Chiss, I hear.”

“Mmmhm.” Lashik nods. “Heard she lost a leg  _ and _ an arm in the battle, and now she’s turning into their version of Darth Vader. Killing anyone that gets in her way. Or isn’t useful enough.”

“Starting with Captain Rossi.” Captain Annison’s voice is deadly serious. “And the  _ blood _ when it happened.”

“So much blood.” Boritz gags a little for effect.

“Blood  _ everywhere. _ ” Lashik mimes blood squirting out of his neck, then shudders. “I’m going to be seeing her severed head hitting the snow in my sleep for  _ weeks. _ ”

Rhiona drops her fork and shoves the tray of food aside, appetite gone. But when she tries to stand, Captain Annison wraps a firm (and not friendly) arm around her.

“Did I say you were dismissed, Lascelles?” Even after nearly six months, Annison still likes to act like they’re on a ship.

And after nearly six months of mistreatment, Rhiona would still like to pick up her tray and slam it into Annison’s face. So far, she’s managed to fight that urge. But maybe tonight is finally the night...

“You will come with us.” The words, about the only ones any of the guards spoke in Basic (besides Vuiskelisa, who had a decent grasp on more than a handful of words now), come just as her fingers have twitched towards the edge of the tray. She immediately shoves it aside, holding her hands up as though they’d caught her in the act and goes willingly when they yank her up from the bench. It’s when they slap her wrists in binders that she becomes a little less than willing, though she’s more frightened than combative as they march her down the corridor in the exact opposite direction of the interrogation rooms.

_ They’re going to kill me. _

Her breaths come in tiny, strained gasps, and not even the sight of Vuiskelisa calms her down, because he’s (obviously) arguing with Warden Clesh’ivish’hresie about something, their words too rapid and strained for her to pick apart. In the end, it seems the warden agrees with whatever Vuiskelisa has requested, but neither of them appear too happy about it.

“What’s happening?” She asks Vuiskelisa as he takes over for one of the guards. No response, so she tries again in Cheunh. “Weo cart g'evipah?” That only gets the attention of the  _ other _ guard, who shoots Vuiskelisa a  _ why did you teach the human our language? _ look, effectively silencing any response her ally (brother) may have had.

The silence lingers, manifesting dread and paranoia, both of which come to a head when they lead her to an awaiting shuttle.

“No.” Rhiona shakes her head, putting up a proper struggle as they reach the boarding ramp. “No, please!”

She kicks and twists, and lashes out with her restrained arms—but it’s no use. The Chiss have long since learned how to deal with the tiny human and her outbursts, and they’re able to pick her up—one holding her legs, the other her torso, and then carry her onto the shuttle. Once onboard they sit on either side of her, hedging her in. It’s almost like a Chiss-sized version of the blanket treatment, and if she wasn’t so terrified and focused on her impending doom right now she’d take note of how nice it actually is to be sandwiched between two Chiss.

All too soon, the shuttle ride comes to an end; she’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but either way she’s not complying as the guards stand and bring them with her. They don’t give her much time to struggle, though, practically dragging her out of the shuttle and down the boarding ramp and...into a shuttle bay.

Rhiona blinks a few times, deeply confused by the setting. They’re obviously on a ship, but why? 

More questions float to the surface as she’s led through spotless corridors. Anyone they pass seems to pay them no mind, as though it’s a common occurrence for two prison guards to be escorting a terrified human female to what, at this point, she assumes is the bridge. And sure enough, after a short turbolift ride and a few more twists and turns, they arrive at their destination.

Eli is there, and he offers her a brief, albeit soft smile which would normally calm her down, but it doesn’t because Rhiona’s attention is on the other person dressed all in white.

It’s her.  _ The Sovereign.  _ And though it’s only a glimpse of a prosthetic hand as a clue, Rhiona just knows in her soul that this formidable woman, her presence almost overwhelming, is the same one that the others were talking about at evening meal. The one who ended Captain Rossi’s life with one fell swoop of a (giant) sword.

_...her severed head_ _hitting the snow..._

Rhiona’s heart seizes in her chest, the air has left her lungs, her muscles refuse to work. She can feel the grip on her arms tighten as the guards lead her over to a console, her eyes immediately drawn to the Imperial datapad—and not a Chiss questis—plugged into it.

“Okay, Rhiona.” Eli’s approach, both physically and verbally, is slow, as though he knows just how on edge she is right now. How close she is to completely losing it. “You’ve done such a good job of telling us what we need to know. Now we need you to do one last thing for us.” He pauses, allowing her a moment to put the pieces together and when she does she’s already shaking her head. “We need you to program in the Imperial communications frequencies and the cryptic communications protocols.”

“No.” It’s nothing short of a miracle that she’s able to get that single word out right now with how close she feels to screaming. “ _ No. _ ” She repeats it, this time with more venom behind the word. Does he have any idea what he’s asking her to do? He’s asking her to, to...to betray the Empire. To turn her back on everything she’s ever known, and for what? The group of strangers on this ship? The Chiss themselves? 

Eli sighs, opening his mouth to no doubt give her some sort of encouraging words when his attention is drawn away by the Sovereign herself.

_ Nononononono. _

Rhiona glances down at her bound wrists, at the two (armed) guards from the prison, at the other (also armed) Chiss scattered across the bridge, weighing her (extremely limited) options before glancing back to Eli and the Sovereign just in time to...catch her giving Eli a side-hug? They’ve been joined by another human too, a woman that the Sovereign gives a gentle head-boop, the kind she remembers seeing her momma and daddy sharing, and  _ what in the hell is going on _ ? Rhiona’s caught staring, and the expression on the Chiss woman’s face is not at all rage-filled or homicidal or harsh. It’s soft, and kind, and carries an unexpected level of concern. If anything, it makes Rhiona miss her momma something fierce, and she blinks away unshed tears before shifting her gaze to Eli and the mystery woman as they come to stand on either side of her at the console. 

“Rhiona, this is my friend and former crewmate from the  _ Chimaera, _ Karyn Faro.”

Her eyes go slightly wide at that.  _ Another trai—former Imperial? _ She’s long since stopped thinking of Eli, or even Ronan, as traitors. Not after hearing their stories, hearing why they left the Empire and came to the Chiss Ascendancy. If Karyn served with Eli, then maybe she left for the same reasons?

“Hey, kid.” Karyn’s voice, like Eli's, is soft. Cautious. “Look, I’m not going to feed you some slop here and say this is going to be easy, because it’s not. But if anybody knows what the Empire is capable of doing, it’s the three of us standing here. And only one of us has the ability to give our side a well needed advantage.”

“I can’t.” Rhiona shakes her head, choking out a sob.

“Yes, you can.” Eli says, taking one of her hands in his as Karyn takes the other.

“I  _ can’t.” _ She says it again, openly weeping now, not caring that she’s breaking down on the bridge of a Chiss ship in full view of complete strangers.

“Think about your momma, Rhiona.” Of course Eli is the one to bring up her family. “And Barret and Keely and Namiah. Do you think the Empire cares about them? Or that they wouldn’t even stop and think about trying to hurt Grogu or Un’hee or Vuiskelisa?”

Rhiona doesn’t want to answer that. She  _ can’t _ answer that, not without choking on the taste of bile, because she knows the answer; no. The Empire doesn’t really care about her momma or her nephew and nieces. And they wouldn’t even stop and think before trying to hurt that sweet little green baby or Eli’s daughter or her (only) friend.

“Was it worth it? Leavin’ everything behind?” She’s shaking as she asks the question, but somehow she’s able to look Eli in the eye.

He gets a sort of far away look on his face for a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

She glances over to Karyn next, awaiting her answer, watching as the older woman briefly glances back at the Sovereign before nodding.

“Absolutely, yes.”

Rhiona takes a deep, shuddering breath (and says a quick prayer to the gods and goddesses), then nods. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Eli nods, and with a quick press of his thumb the binders come off, freeing her wrists. Then for the next two hours she’s lost in a world of code. At some point she’s vaguely aware of someone pressing her down into a chair, and more than once she turns down the offer of water. When it’s all over, she’s a little sweaty, a lot exhausted, and overall...empty. This should feel different somehow, she knows, this act of aiding the Chiss. More final. More concrete.

Instead she’s left feeling like she needs a long, hot shower (and  _ bless _ the Chiss and their obsession with water) and to sleep for the next three days. Maybe the reality of it all will sink in later, but for now the only thing that seems real is the cool metal of the binders enveloping her wrists once more. Eli and Karyn share some placating words, ones she doesn’t quite process as she’s led off the bridge.

The full force of the nausea doesn’t hit her until they reach the shuttle, and when it does it hits  _ hard, _ the color instantly draining from her face. Vuiskelisa takes one look at her and practically carries her to the small ‘fresher located at the back of the shuttle; just in time, too, because no sooner has he opened the door does she drop to her knees and proceed to empty the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet. Vuiskelisa holds her hair with one hand and rubs the back of her neck with the other as she wretches, the force of it all making her tremble. With a few dry heaves, she’s (thank the gods and goddesses) done, and she leans back against the wall, numb, while Vuiskelisa cleans her up. 

There’s a very quick conversation with the other guard when they re-enter the main compartment, the gist of which she’s too tired to attempt to comprehend, but the end result is letting her lay down for the duration of the trip back to Sposia. A gentle hand wakes her, and even through bleary eyes she can tell that Vuiskelisa is up to something. 

That  _ something _ becomes more clear when he grabs a blanket from a compartment under one of the seats; she wants to tell him that she’s fine, that she doesn’t need the damn “blanket treatment”, but before she can even think to argue with him he’s starting to wrap her up, and it just feels  _ so damn good; _ all safe, and warm, and when he picks her up, she gets it.  _ Oh. _ It’s a (pretty damn good) excuse to carry her, and not make her have to walk all the way to her cell from the landing pad. She doesn’t even need to pretend to look like she’s had a fit, because, well, she  _ did _ have one. Besides, it’s late enough that the only other folks out and about at this time should be other guards; it’s a perfect plan that works flawlessly. Even her roommate is out cold when they get to her cell, and Vuiskelisa is able to get her settled in before he leaves.

Despite how exhausted she is (mentally and physically) she feels like she didn’t sleep at all when it’s time to get up the next day. 

But at least she’s on kitchen duty that afternoon; something to look forward to. She always feels happiest when she’s busy, and the kitchen is the best place for that. Of course there’s also the part where it reminds her of home, of cooking meals with her momma and brothers, and (almost) most of the time she’s able to stay in a happy place. Unless of course she happens to be sharing kitchen duty with Boritz, Lashik, and Captain Annison...which today, of all days, she is.

The three of them are strangely quiet so far, and Rhiona can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s more than a little suspicious, especially when Boritz asks her to grab more meat from the walk-in freezer and says “ _ please _ ”. That word alone, especially coming from Boritz, trips her paranoia, but she’s quick to shake it off as the result of a lack of sleep.

Only for that paranoia to come roaring back; the insulated jackets with their matching gloves—all  _ five sets _ —provided for the (sensitive) humans to wear while entering the freezer are missing from their respective hooks.

“Ha, ha. Very funny guys!” She glances around; the others are nowhere to be seen, of course. Probably off in another part of the kitchen, laughing at their (juvenile) prank. But she’s in no laughing mood, and she’s also not in any excess amount of time, either. So she does a quick calculation; the meat they need is located closest to the door...she can be in and out in under thirty seconds, and while the material of the grey uniform isn’t nearly as thick as one of the jackets, it at least has long sleeves.

She’s (extra) careful to secure the door after opening it, then, taking a deep breath, she rushes in, eyes on her intended destination. The case of meat is just within reach when she hears the (horrible) sound of the door closing.

Rhiona runs over to it, trying the access pad despite somehow knowing that it won’t work.

Five seconds later, the lights go out, leaving her in darkness. 

Panic grips at her chest, her fists pounding on the door. “Lemme out! Someone! Please! Help!” 

She’s already shaking, her lips trembling, but she continues her pleas even as she’s no longer able to feel her hands. Tears freeze to her cheeks as she cries, and when it becomes too difficult to speak, when the exhaustion takes hold, she curls up on the ground, wondering if anyone heard her.

>>>>>.....outgoing encrypted message.....<<<<<

Subject was attacked by human prisoners and suffered from severe hypothermia. No permanent damage to primary or secondary reproductive organs noted. Expect full recovery within two Csillan standard weeks. 

More thorough physical exam performed; located and successfully removed contraceptive device. No signs of recent sexual activity noted. Administered standard prenatal vitamins. 

The Kivu boy could be a problem; won’t leave subject’s side unless ordered by warden. Please advise.

Yours in science,

–L

>>>>>.....end transmission.....<<<<<

Rhiona wakes up to the sensation of being smothered by fire and the inability to breathe around the tube that’s down her throat. It  _ hurts _ , so much. Everything hurts, and when she goes to fling off the blankets (or whatever it is on top of her) and yank on the tube, she discovers that her wrists have been strapped down to the sides of the bed. Just the simple act of tugging against the restraints sends a sharp pain throughout her entire body, making her whimper while her head thrashes back and forth on the pillow.

“Nala, rt'esah.”

She knows that voice, and that word;  _ breathe. _ One eye opens, then the next, and she’s greeted by the image of a very concerned looking Vuiskelisa. That alone makes her let out a tiny sob around the tube in her throat; she’s  _ never _ seen him look like that, so whatever happened must have been bad. Rhiona tries to remember, flashes of images popping up in her head—going into the freezer, the door closing, being  _ so _ cold. This time the sob is much louder, and the machines monitoring her vital signs start alarming, drawing the attention of the medics. One of them injects something into the thin tube connected to her arm; Rhiona tries to protest, tries to form words, but all that comes out is a muffled squeak.

Her eyes rapidly grow heavy, and then she’s pulled under by the weight of the sedative.

When she wakes up again, the tube is gone. So is the sensation of being smothered by fire, and while she’s still under what feels like a mountain of blankets, her wrists are no longer restrained and she’s able to free her arms from under them. 

“Hey there.” 

The Wild Space drawl should serve as enough of a clue as to the owner of the voice, but just to be sure Rhiona turns her head. Confirming that it is, in fact, Eli (and not some weird drug-induced hallucination), she smiles at him.

“Hey yourself.” Her own voice is scratchy and strained, but it feels good to talk without that damn tube getting in the way.

“I’ve got good news for you.” He holds out a questis, which she takes, squinting at all the Cheunh for only a few seconds before handing it back. She’s in no shape to try to translate all of that right now. Eli spares her a sympathetic look, then he grins. “You’ve been granted parole.”

All she can do is blink a few times. “What?”

“The parole board took your compliance with questioning, your recent actions with the programming of the Imperial frequencies and cryptic communications codes, and the attack all into consideration when reviewing your case; they agreed you weren’t a flight risk and ruled that the rest of your sentence could be served under house arrest.” 

Parole. No more prison, no more schedules. No more Captain Annison or Boritz or Lashik.

“There’s more, too.” The grin on Eli’s face seems to have grown ten-fold. “The Mitth have agreed to take you in. Not only that, they wanna make you a merit-adoptive.”

“The Mitth? Ain’t that your family?” Rhiona watches Eli nod, then she bursts into tears. 

_ A family _ . 

She’s going to have a family again. People that care about her, people that will be there for her. Sure, she still doesn’t completely understand the way the Chiss operate, but the fact that the Mitth are even willing to take her in is...a lot. And while nobody can ever replace her momma (or her daddy, or her brothers), just the thought alone—of  _ family _ — makes her heart swell and her head swim and her eyes go all blurry as she cries.

“Hey.” Eli is quick to grab her hand. “Hey, now.” He wipes at some of her tears with his free hand. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I promise you that things are only gonna get better from here. Ya hear me?”

Rhiona nods, sniffling as she wipes at some of the tears herself with the back of her free hand. “O-okay.” She sniffles again. “When is all of this happenin’?”

“A few more days. You need at least one more dip in the bacta tank—

She groans at that, causing Eli to chuckle.

“I know, I know, I hate the stuff too. But they ain’t gonna let you out of here until you’re better, and you know it.”

Rhiona agrees. Reluctantly. Eli gives her a (gentle) hug before leaving, and, loathe as she is to admit it, she knows she needs the rest when she has to struggle to keep her eyes open for more than five minutes after he leaves. But it’s pleasant dreams that greet her, of a real room with a real bed, and a family to take care of her.

>>>>>.....outgoing encrypted message.....<<<<<

Understood; the Kivu boy will be dealt with if necessary. 

More complications; subject is being granted parole, partly as a “safety precaution”. Unconfirmed rumors of potential adoption by one of the ruling families, speculation would be Mitth or Irizi. Have secured place on shuttle as “medical standby”. Will contact when shuttle has been secured.

Yours in science,

-L

>>>>>.....end transmission.....<<<<<

The next few days seem to drag on, but each night she goes to sleep with a renewed sense of  _ hope _ . Of purpose and belonging. And each morning she wakes up after a restful sleep that was filled with dreams of her new family. Her new life.

Eli visits again and spends an hour (okay, several) explaining it all to her; the Chiss family structure, more on the Mitth themselves, the process of becoming a merit adoptive. It’s all a bit overwhelming (and feels exceedingly complex and complicated), but she’s still left with more than just a fleeting sense of excitement. She can’t wait to meet the Matriarch and Patriarch, even if she is nervous about making a good impression after all the fuss that no doubt went into all of this (to which Eli tells her she has nothing to worry about, which of course makes her even more nervous). 

And then the day finally comes.

She wakes up that morning, fully rested and fully  _ nervous _ . But also excited. And hopeful. And a whole host of other emotions that she’s not sure if she’s ready to process (but is thankfully too busy to focus on). Rhiona honestly hasn’t felt this way since she first started at the academy on Yaga Minor, and even then there’s nothing quite like the feeling of waking up to a set of new clothes— _ normal _ clothes— after six months of being forced to wear the same thing as the other prisoners. There’s something odd, yet so  _ right _ about changing into the comfortable (and stylish) clothes done up in shades of burgundy and grey (which she knows are the Mitth colors, thanks to Eli); something final, too. Not only is she leaving her life as a prisoner behind, she’s leaving her life in the Empire behind.

Six months ago, let alone six  _ weeks _ ago, it’s something she never would have seriously considered. Even after cooperating with the Chiss, leaving the Empire (and all that entails) behind to start a new life just didn’t seem possible.

Now here she is, a grin on her face as she completes the (endless piles) of paperwork (some of it on  _ actual _ paper), ready to dive head first into the unknown. 

Vuiskelisa is at her side when she walks out of the penitentiary as a (mostly) free woman, and she’s beyond grateful that he’s coming on the shuttle with her. Loorola is there too, the medic’s presence the one caveat to Rhiona being released from the medcenter a day early, but even that’s not putting a damper on the mood of the day. A mood that, apparently, is infectious as the normally reserved medic smiles back at Rhiona as she offers her a greeting in Cheunh.

The three of them get settled in, Vuiskelisa offering her a reassuring smile as their shuttle breaks from Sposia’s orbit. There’s a nervous sort of energy Rhiona can’t seem to shake about this whole thing, one that keeps her from sitting still. In just a few hours she’s going to have a  _ family _ again. Her entire life is about to change.

“Relax, Nala.” Vuiskelisa says (in heavily accented but almost perfect Basic) as he reaches out and takes her hand in his. “All will be well.”

She glances down at their hands for a moment, dark blue enveloping pale white, at how different they are, yet how alike. Six months ago, the Chiss were the enemy.  _ Aliens _ . Different in every imaginable way. Then, day by day, Rhiona became more aware of the similarities. The Chiss became less alien, less of the enemy, and most of that was thanks to Vuiskelisa. Her guardian angel inside the prison. Her friend.

Her  _ brother _ . 

Rhiona’s hit with an overwhelming sense of heartache, then, at the thought of just how much she’s going to miss him. 

And that’s when the blue energy bolt hits him.

It comes suddenly and without warning; Vuiskelisa isn’t even given a chance to reach for his own weapon. One second he’s opening his mouth, no doubt to tell some sort of joke to set her at ease, the next there’s a massive hole in his head.

The fact that Vuiskelisa has been shot, that the weight of his dead body, his hand still clutching hers, is dragging her down to the floor, doesn’t immediately process in Rhiona’s brain. Neither does the fact that she’s just watched another brother die (because that’s what he was; a brother), or that she hears the weapon being discharged two more times. 

Time slows down as she stares at the lifeless body of the one person who made six months in Rei’cs’enb’ahcs Penitentiary anything but a living hell. The lifeless eyes of Vuiskelisa, of her brother, stare up at Rhiona as her mouth opens and closes, still unable to form a single word or even let out the sob that she can feel choking her. 

Time reverts as she hears footsteps coming from the cockpit. And while she may have no idea what’s going on, she does know one thing—she is not going down without a fight. She is not giving up so easily; not when she’s this close to a new family. To a new life. 

Through tear-blurred eyes she spots the weapon strapped to Vuiskelisa’s thigh. Trembling fingers manage to pull it free just as the approaching footsteps stop, and Rhiona turns around, unfamiliar weapon in hand, and takes aim at Loorola.

The medic laughs as nothing happens. “Silly human.”

There’s another flash, this time green, then—

>>>>>.....outgoing encrypted transmission.....<<<<<

Shuttle has been secured. Subject stunned and placed in restraints. Transmitting location now.

>>>>>.....end transmission.....<<<<<


End file.
